The Coward's Way Out
by a mountain of gideon's scones
Summary: For the I'm about to die challenge. Nearly Headless Nick died as Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, the knight of the realm, the death for an accident. How does he feel about death?


_For the I'm about to die challenge by A Sirius Crush on Moony_

_Got most of the information, besides for what we already knew, from HP Wiki_

_I don't own anything_

* * *

Chop, chop, chop… that is what an execution via beheading sounds like: a quick succession of chops through ligament and bone with about as much attention given to the person involved as you give to your unwanted pests: two seconds. As soon as one person is dead, the next is thrown down onto the chopping block and made to say their last words before…

… CHOP…

They lose their head as well.

The date is 31st October 1492 and my name is Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. Fifteen years ago, I was knighted by the British Monarch, Edward IV, the only Muggle in the entire country to know of the existence of the wizarding world. Yet I was knighted for my work within his court and my own royal one, for the way that I could relay every message with precision and perfection: due to me, the relations between Muggles and wizards improved dramatically.

Yet here I am, Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, sentenced to death for a crime which was merely an accident…

* * *

_Flashback to the crime…_

The date is 30th October 1492 and I am strolling through the park. The evening is lovely, the air brisk but not at all unpleasant with the thick cloak I am wearing. The collar around my neck keeps the worst of the cold from my skin but the walk is pleasant, refreshing to me. I have been inside all day and this is the first opportunity I have had to experience the wonders of this part of the country… I normally spend the majority of my time in London, with the King or the Minister of Magic, but for the past three or four days, we have spent the time in York, with the King's family. Naturally, it seems that the Royal Court of Magic appears to have moved at the same time

Ahead of me, I see Lady Grieve conducting her own walk alone. I have always pitied her, for she has the most _awfully_ crooked teeth. Perhaps… I have had a rather lucky day today… so perhaps _today_ ought to be the day that I address her about it? She may be a witch but I have heard that she does not like to perform magic beyond what is necessary, for it makes her less of a woman of God, though I personally don't see how that works.

"Good evening, madam," I greet her appropriately as I pass her, bowing deeply as I tip my hat. She reciprocates the gesture, curtseying to me with a small smile that does nothing but show how crooked her teeth are. "What a wonderful evening. May I inquire what you are doing?"

She smiles wider and I become ever more distracted by the appalling state of her teeth: they are more crooked than I thought, so perhaps if she is in a sweet enough mood, she may allow me to perform this smallest piece of magic.

"Why, sir, I am simply meandering in the park as I usually do, and yourself?"

I realise that this is my only chance to perform the spell – with her permission, of course – for we are to move to another location tomorrow. Therefore, I shall attempt this now and if she does not like my advances, she and I need never meet again.

"Madam, I would like to request the opportunity to straighten your teeth, if you would allow me the opportunity?" I ask her in the politest of ways, fearful of an uproar of a reaction. However, she simply stands still and contemplates this for a moment.

"I am in a rather good mood today, so, if you believe you shall be capable of performing this spell effectively, I shall allow you," she surprises me by being compliant to my wishes without even having to attempt to charm her.

I bow again, most deeply, and remove the slight piece of wood from my sleeve. Behind her, I can see her guards approaching and aim to have this done before they reach her – I do not wish to hold them up on their way to wherever they are headed. So I take a deep breath and think the spell inside my head, pointing the wand at her mouth…

… everything goes wrong.

Instead of straightening out, as they have done on every person I have tested this on with perfect results, merely one tooth moves: it elongates horrendously, so much so it turns into a tusk.

Lady Grieve screams and her guards rush over, one of them assisting her whilst the other uses magic to pin my shocked body to the ground…

* * *

_Back to the death…_

That's all I did. I realised that night, as I was locked away, I had mispronounced the spell and accidentally used the one for growth rather than straightening. I am ashamed to say that after my death sentence, I began to cry as they locked me in the dungeon without my wand: if I'd had my wand, I would not be standing here, waiting to be taken up to the block to have my head removed. No, I would be as far away from this place as possible.

Up until five minutes ago, I protested how I could sort out her teeth, that she needn't be afraid of magic anymore… but nobody believed me. They simply told me that I was going to die today, on All Hallow's Eve, and that there was nothing I could do about it.

So, for the past five minutes as I move ever closer to the block, I have been crying. I cannot help it; I simply know that I am going to die… childish behaviour has taken over my body as my impending doom moves ever closer. I am scared of death; I am most scared of death. I do not _want_ to die, for fear of the great unknown that lies beyond with it.

My name is called and I am thrust forwards towards the block, towards the executioner with the axe which already has the blood of many upon it. I shake as I approach him, knowing these are my last moments on this earth.

"Kneel," he orders me in a harsh tone and in this minute, I realise how I am feeling everything that every single person who is executed feels in these moments. How many executions have I been to and laughed as they are subjected to the instantaneous death of an axe? Oh, so many but I am in that group now, with this death.

I cannot obey his imperative order, remaining standing as my knees refuse to move. After thirty seconds of this, my body gradually sinking through fear, he pushes me down onto my knees and my face hits the wooden block. I don't want to die.

With shaking hands, I move myself to have my chin resting in the chin block, as the words of the announcer wash over me… but I cannot focus enough to hear them. The only thing I can hear is:

_I don't want to die_.

I end up saying this aloud and the gathered crowd cheers at my confession of fear. Tears stream down my cheeks as I wait for the piercing pain from the axe cutting through all my bones and neck, severing life from my head and body…

I hear the rising of the axe and its descent through the air, my eyes squeezed shut in preparation for the imminent death.

Of course, this being me, it doesn't come.

I scream out in pain as the axe merely goes in less than an eighth of an inch, nowhere near enough to kill me. The crowd, unsurprisingly, goes wild at me screaming before the confusion as to why I am not dead overtakes…

The axe is removed from my neck and swung down, this time with more force. Yet I still survive, the pain agonising and excruciating as the words ring in my head even more: I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die.

Rather than wishing to _embrace_ death, rather than feel this pain as a man, it seems to ignite ever _more_ fear in me as I approach it.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen… we're on this number of strokes already and I am still nowhere near close to death. I seem to go numb, however, yet I keep a hold on my belief that I do not wish to die and that I want to stay alive in this world. The pain here must be worse than a person poisoned, the execution excruciatingly elongated with the bluntness of the axe. Evidently they deigned not to sharpen it, or had lost the grindstone which is used to sharpen it to dangerously sharp.

As strike number forty three is reached, I begin to slip away, the next two being the ones which do it. Every single second, I think: I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. It's the only thing I can think of, the admission of fear that I do not want to go into the world of the unknown, the cowards way of going the only thing I want now.

I rise from my body as a spirit but beg the world for me _not_ to go to heaven or wherever it is that we go to. I beg to remain here.

So I do.

I float back down to earth in the park where everything began, the place where I turned Lady Grieve's tooth to a tusk. I am a ghost, forever imprinted upon this earth. It may have been the coward's way to do it, not _truly_ alive but not dead either, yet it is what I want. I never need feel the knowledge that I will not know what is coming, no.

I will be here forever, the _bearer_ of information for future generations. Being in control that way is better for me, at least.

Cowardly may it be, it is the step that I wished to take. So I did… and here I am.

* * *

_Whatcha think?_

_Vicky xx_


End file.
